Once Upon a Snowy Night
by Asher Elric
Summary: All arathorn wants to do is find a nice girl to settle down with, however, when Halbarad and others start to meddle, things shift down wind fast, can we win the girl of his heart while another vies for his attention?
1. Fall Fair

**Disclaimer – I do not own**

**Once Upon a Snowy Night**

**Part 1 – Fall Fair**

It had taken pale after pale after pale of water from the well to fill the seven large tubs full of apples for the rounds of apple-bobbing they were to have as part of their games. Gilraen and Tilá emptied the last buckets of water into the last tub of apples, now, satisfied that the water was at the correct level, Gilraen and Tilá put away their water buckets.

The Fall Fair was the customary celebration of their kind, The Numenorean's, arrived in Arda from their island home that had been swallowed by the sea. Gilraen shared the oddity of golden brown hair and blue eyes with her mother, who hailed from Gondor, while Tilá sported dark brown hair and muddy eyes.

"So," Tilá gave her friend a narrowed look, "What has your father said about it?"

"About what exactly?" Gilraen asked, fully knowing what her friend was asking.

"About Arathorn, our Chieftain? Are you to marry him or not?" Tilá asked.

"Well, its not as if he has his eye on anyone particular, is it? I mean, it was idle conversation that should not have been imposed upon their meeting," Gilraen shrugged it off. Not that she was entirely uncaring of the situation. Arathorn and Halbarad had been throwing about the fact that Arathorn (now sixty-nine) should be getting married. Gilraen was only twenty-one, much too young to truly understand how marriage worked and yet she longed for it. Tilá was older still, at thirty, and hadn't been interested in the idea of marriage until recently. But, Gilraen mostly suspected the young man, Aldadur of this idea sneaking into Tilá's head.

"How is he going to pick?" Tilá mused to herself.

"It's kind of like the legend," Gilraen replied, "The one about the cinder girl who went to the ball, and met the Prince of the kingdom and fell in love,"

"Almost, we aren't to have a ball, but a fair, and everyone here works, I don't know of a person who doesn't except for Wingë, and she is spoilt," Tilá clicked her tongue in annoyance; for Wingë wasn't of their nomadic origins, she had grown up in a well-to-do port by the ocean. Her mother and father had taken a holiday out at sea and never came back, her only family was her Uncle Halbarad. Still, she was not made to do much. She was wonderful at sewing and so she would do most of the mending of the young and single men's wear. Her embroidery was impeccable and, she was one of those people who thought blood lines were more important than love when one wedded. In fact, she was set on catching Arathorn's heart. She was always bragging about one thing or another, how he looked at her, the one time he handed her an apple (though Gilraen knew that he was deep in thought and it hadn't been meant as anything of the sort from one lover to another). The time he saved her from an Orc, that was his job, what the hell was she going on about anyway!?

Gilraen hoped though that Arathorn wouldn't announce any intentions that night. She hoped that maybe, if the signs she had seen from him were worth anything, that he might approach her on his own and not in front of a crowd. Sure, he was to be the King of Men and retake the Gondor Throne, but, she didn't care about that. No, not at all.

All she really wanted, was to be loved.

---

Arathorn changed into soft, doe skin breeches and a thick, dark green tunic. It was cold now, for summer had turned to fall and soon it would snow. He didn't like the snow; he had spent a week almost freezing on top of some mountain while doing some stupid favor for Mithrandir. He refused to do anything in the snow, much preferring to be by the hearth on a cold winter's day, enjoying an old tomb from his foster-father's library.

Winter in Imaldris was wonderful, of course, the twins would drag him out to play a game or two, but still, Yule was the most celebrated of the seasons. A time of good will towards all and a hope in peace for Arda restored.

Halbarad was waiting in the common room for his chieftain, Arathorn pulled on his worn boots. He would need them redone; he decided that a trip to Imaldris wouldn't be untoward, especially if he had his Fiancé on his arm. Elrond, Elrohir, Elledan, Errestor and Glorfindel would like to see him finally settled down, just a little bit, and having heirs. They and Halbarad were always on him about it.

"So, have you made up your mind yet?" Halbarad asked, correctly assimilating his Lord's thoughts.

"Maybe, I don't know. I am told she is too young," Arathorn shrugged.

"You have put this off for twenty years; don't you think it is time? Why don't you just close your eyes and point at a girl?" Halbarad joked. Arathorn chuckled.

"Thou art nothing but a kuku bird when it comes to young ladies," Arathorn shook his head.

"True, actually, if it helps, I also have my eye on a young maiden, tell me, have you taken her?"

"Who might this young lady be?" Arathorn asked.

"Tilá, daughter of Ostdil," Halbarad replied.

"Ah, and what of the other young man vying for her heart?" Arathorn wondered aloud.

"He is of no matter, I've seen the way she bats her eyelashes at me," Halbarad shrugged. Arathorn right out laughed now.

"What had crawled under your shirt, my friend, to make you laugh at my plight so?" Halbarad pouted.

"Forgive me, I meant no offence," Arathorn replied placating. Halbarad huffed, but forgave him all the same.

"Well, promise me that, you don't have to approach her tonight, but please, make up your mind," Halbarad sighed and stood. The Fall Fair was to start in an hour.

"I shall," Arathorn promised. He just prayed to the Valar that he would find his love tonight. He did not want to think of what would happen if he did not and died before fulfilling his destiny.

---

Fireworks shot off at random intervals by Gandalf who had arrived just in time for their festival. Casks of beer were being broken open and passed about; lemonade had been made for the youngest of children. Apple-bobbing and Pop-the-fox were the most popular games. Prizes that had been hand whittled, such as bows and soft arrows for children, nicely made daggers for adults.

Gilraen was made to man the kissing-booth. A mere penny for a kiss and the proceeds would go towards anything that the village might need that they couldn't make for themselves. Most of the money went to the Rangers when they would depart for a terribly long journey.

Gilraen kissed the cheek of an old man in his two-hundredth year before she caught site of Arathorn. He was enjoying a mug of beer with some of the other young (for being fifty-sixty years of age) men. He caught her looking at him and sent her a wave; she turned red and took another penny for another kiss. She had the fluttering idea of a hope that he would come over and give her a penny, so that she could give him a kiss. Of course, she knew that she was only being silly. Arathorn obviously had eyes for Wingë; the nit would never let her hear the end of it!

---

"Go over there and get a kiss, Arathorn," Halbarad nudged him in the middle.

"Why would I want to do that?" Arathorn sniffed, though, he had to admit; the girl was pretty, she shared more in the Gondorian looks, which, Arathorn found, he liked.

"She's making eyes at you!" Rant, the youngest of the group, teased.

"Oh fine, if nothing else at least the village purse shall have another penny!" Arathorn glowered at the men around him but as he walked away, they chuckled, knowing that all Arathorn needed was a push out the door.

"You know what we should do," Halbarad mused. He had the attention of the small group around him.

"I don't think Arathorn knows exactly how to go about this, so, why don't we just help him along?" he asked.

"We should," Rant nodded his head.

"Brilliant…here is what we shall do…."

The group huddled together planning strategy that for once did not include, wargs, Dark Numenorean's or Orcs.

---

Arathorn was pushed to the front of the line, the men around him chuckling at the fact that he apparently wanted a kiss from the beautiful Gilraen. For her part, she was red in the face, but in a way that made Arathorn proud of himself, he was able to do that!

She wore a dress of dark purple with lilacs in her hair that was turned up into braids and pinned by star-lit pins that must belong to her mother. He handed her the penny and as she leaned in to kiss him, she also wouldn't let him take his hand back. Maybe it was something that she had longed to do and he figured it wouldn't hurt to let her. But, at the same time, he couldn't imagine the young lady wanting him in _that_ way.

Arathorn didn't miss the teasing or the laughing from the groups around him, or the twittering of the older women who looked upon him with the air that older women often would, the hope that he would pick this girl to marry, or even that they must be courting secretly. He had heard that one before, the rumor was that he was courting Wingë, he didn't liked that girl, he just didn't know how to tell that to Halbarad!

---

A/N – I wanted to write about Arathorn's and Gilraen's courtship. They only had two years together in marriage before Arathorn died, I might write about those two years as well. I figure then that Aragorn must be a Honeymoon baby if he was two years old when his father died.


	2. Snow and Meddling

**Once Upon a Snowy Night**

**Part 2 – Snow and Meddling**

**Arathorn met Gandalf at the table in the cabin that he called his own.** The Ranger Village fit about twenty something families, all made out of wood with thick wood and mud walls. His cabin was in the middle, seeing as how he was chieftain. He had several rooms available for special guests, Gandalf for one and maybe Elrohir and Elledan if they ever found themselves so far out from Imaldris.

Food from the common kitchens had been provided, two places set at the table and coffee distributed. Arathorn took up his cup gladly. It had snowed in the early hours of the morning and the cold had somehow seeped into his upstairs bedroom. He had dressed in his thickest of clothing; hair was pulled back in a tail at the back of his neck.

"Good morrow," Gandalf greeted, apparently he wasn't cold.

"It's cold, how can a cold morning be a good one?" Arathorn muttered.

"All mornings are good if you are still alive," Gandalf replied. Arathorn had to agree with that.

"How are your patrols of these woods and beyond going?" Gandalf asked.

"I've toured our other outposts this past month and have found absolutely no Orc activity, not to say that it shant begin again. Lord Elrond and his sons also have had no activity to report," Arathorn replied.

"And what of finding a wife?"

"Not you too!?! What is with everyone these days?" Arathorn grumped. Gandalf's keening laugh filled his ears.

"I am curious as to who you have chosen to carry on the line of the Sea Kings. After all, what would happen to the Race of Men if you died and had no heir?"

"Who cares? I mean, No one actually knows that we exist, and if they do and if they tell anyone else, it is most likely that those they tell would think it only wives tails. After all, Ecthelion wasn't too impressed when the tail was told around the dinner table one night," Arathorn criticized.

"I know a lot of things, my friend, and here is what I know; I know for a fact that it shant be you who take Gondor's throne," Gandalf said.

"Good, so then I can remain a bachelor," Arathorn grunted.

"No, you must marry. I cannot tell you why, well, you know why. What I can tell you is that your heir or the one after shall take up the gauntlet of Gondor," Gandalf explained.

"All right then, but besides the fact that I must have an heir, who am I to marry? My heart is not in it," Arathorn said.

"Ah, that I cannot help you with, you must follow your heart, not duty," Gandalf finished his plate of eggs, toast and bacon before disappearing to wherever it was a Wizard would go in a Ranger outpost.

For that matter, the everyday life of the Ranger outpost was such that no one needed to be told what to do, they all knew what needed to be done and did it. It was the small patch of a rose and petunia garden that drew his eye though, and the woman who tended it.

Gilraen, the woman of whom he had given a penny for a kiss the night before, was weeding out the plants that did not belong in the small garden under her window. Ivy grew up the edges of the cabin and the wall, Arathorn knew that in the summer these vines would bear fruit for a short month before it grew barren once again. He wondered if that was how Gilraen felt, for she was old enough to marry, young still to his age, and yet she was kind and supportive. Her hair was golden yellow, like that of wheat, and she had starlit eyes like none he had ever seen. He wondered what life with her would be like, for, if he was going to pick a woman to marry, he wanted to pick someone that he all ready felt something for, but what he felt for Gilraen he did not know.

Halbarad tripped him out of his revere; Arathorn had not noticed the foot his friend had stuck out, he tripped over it, fell face first down the stairs in a summersault, and landed on his bum in the hip deep snow.

"Dol lost nin, Halbarad," Arathorn muttered as he picked himself up.

"Yes, yes, I got all my looks from me Mum and father had nothing to hand down since it was all taken by Halnynn," Halbarad snickered the usual insult.

"I am glad that you have retained that much information, what the hell were you trying to do anyway, kill me?" Arathorn leveled his gaze sadly at the spilt coffee. He loved his coffee.

"I have a bit of a problem, Wingë is rather distraught and I can't make her stop crying, your good with women and things of this nature so…maybe you could…make her feel better?" Halbarad asked.

"What….wait…have you lost what sense you ever had?"

"No, now, she's in the barn, go to her!" Halbarad said and pushed Arathorn in the direction of the barn. He caught the starlit eyes of Gilraen as he walked on, she looked…hurt? He hurried his step, why was he running from a woman he did not want to see cry, and yet going to see a woman who was?

Women never would make sense, the worms!

---

Gilraen sighed as she watched her Lord go to the barn where she knew Wingë would be waiting; she would be dressed in a beautiful red number of which showed off her cleavage quite daringly. She would be crying, her hair out of its usual buns. She smelled of peonies, Gilraen was sure that Arathorn did not like Peonies, she didn't know what he liked as perfume went, but, it had to smell better than the horse manure she used on her garden. The frost had killed most of the plants and now she was just cleaning it up a bit for readiness for when she went back to replant. She wished she had plants that could live in such harsh weather, she hated the snow, and she rather liked summer when things were afresh with green.

Halbarad joined her, he sprinkled the manure as she did; "Le suilon," he whispered.

"Suilaid," Gilraen replied.

"Whatever are you doing this for? The plants can surely take care of themselves now?" Halbarad asked.

"Well, true but, I don't want this corner that Lord Arathorn has granted my mother to go to ruins, he would think me a cow," Gilraen replied, her face was flush as one manure soaked hand found her own.

"Arathorn would never think that and neither would I," Halbarad assured her.

"Still, it is more for my peace of mind than anything else," Gilraen replied.

"True, I find that doing menial tasks helpful for stress relief," he smiled.

"Indeed," Gilraen went on putting out the rest of the manure, Halbarad working besides her.

"When will you go out to patrol next?" Gilraen asked suddenly.

"I do not know, maybe in a few days, Arathorn has been wanting to see his foster father once more so we may head towards Imaldris," Halbarad replied.

"I am glad that Lord Arathorn feels such a need, I miss my own and it would be good for him," Gilraen said.

"It would indeed," Halbarad looked at the woman before him, she thought her awfully immature at times, but, sometimes, she surprised him vastly.

"I have to go and see to the security," he stood.

"Wash your hands before you touch anything else, we have no need of contagion," Gilraen giggled. Halbarad gave a nervous smile, his face went red and he ran off. He spent the next half hour washing his hands, not sure at all why he couldn't get away from such a task.

---

Arathorn was not a very happy man when finally he returned to his home. Wingë practically threw herself at him and it had taken three hours (or more by the way it felt) to get away from her. He knew one thing; he didn't like a woman who felt so needy. He needed a woman who could take care of the home and the children without him. After all, the orc's number grew daily; they fought harder than he could ever remember. Wingë was pretty, she smelled nice and for a moment it felt good to hold her, but, if he had to follow his heart, he would have to say that she was not the woman for him.

But, and as he found fresh coffee to fill his cold stomach, who was the right woman for him…?

---

a/n – Okay, I am not proficient in Elvish, I do hope that by the way the conversation was written that you could follow what I have.

_Dol lost nin – your head is empty_

_Le Suilon – I greet thee_

_Suilaid - Greetings_


End file.
